


We Wish You A Merry Christmas And A Happy New Year!

by rxcrcfllptrs



Category: Team Crafted
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, M/M, Pokemon - Freeform, Soulmate AU, TiMER AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:13:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxcrcfllptrs/pseuds/rxcrcfllptrs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of drabbles and oneshots written during Christmas and the New Years. :)</p>
<p>Christmas:<br/>i. "i'll follow you into the light" (merome)<br/>ii. "and i'd be so good to you" (one-sided!skylox, no warnings)<br/>iii. "resembling cutlery on the sofa" (skylox, timer au)<br/>iv. "where is your heart at?" (pre-doubdil, underage drinking)<br/>v. "a lot like christmas" (no pairings, no warnings)<br/>vi. "in the brink of a hurricane" (pre-setosolace, pokemon au)<br/>vii. "for the light in my eyes is strange" (pre-merome, soulmate au)<br/>viii. "don't run, stop holding your tongue" (skysolace, no warnings)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i'll follow you into the light

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "The Light" by Sara Bareilles. Summary: Engagement.

Mitch isn’t known as a patient man.

There’s probably only a few things he can do - and Jerome has experienced some of these things that he can - and waiting is part of that very short list. When he watches movies with the option of the remote, he’ll skip to the end if he knows what’s gonna happen with the help of his friend Wikipedia. The few times he reads books, he skims the middle and quickly reads the last few pages.

Probably the only way one can make him wait is when he arrives early for a meet-up or wrap it up in christmas wrapping and top it off with a bow. Today, Jerome’s gonna make Mitch wait.

The presents under the Team Crafted house’s Christmas trees have already been opened and thanked for and enjoyed, with only the torn pieces of wrapping paper that haven’t been swept away left over.

Well, except for one. And to tell you the truth, it’s been killing Mitch little by little as time goes by.

There’s one neatly wrapped present underneath the tree, amidst the fallen tinsel and clutter around it. Mitch is trying so hard to not peek at what it is - who knows? It might’ve been a present someone left under there and they’ve been look for it all over the place! But a gut feeling in him told him he should wait.

Well, that, and the looks Adam gives him when he gets near the tree to get a closer look. “That present isn’t until later,” the older man would say, patting him on the shoulder. “You can wait a few more hours, right?” as he’s being pushed by the shoulders to a different room.

"Define few more hours," Mitch would ask with an exasperated sigh to whoever what in the room he was pushed into and the other occupant - Quentin, in this case - would reply with an even more exasperated tone. "When Jerome gets back!"

It gets him even closer to the edge of his seat every time the question is answered, because what could Jerome have possibly gotten someone that he needed to be there to give it to them?

His blood runs cold at some of the answers his head supplies him of who the recipient could be. He and his boyfriend have been together for a long time, but they haven’t gone without fighting and one of them leaving the house, staying at someone else’s place for a few days.

So, by the time Jerome comes back, Mitch is more than a little worried. Which is an understatement, because he’s driven everyone else crazy with his pacing and his questions and the words he’s muttering under his breath.

Jerome finds him under the Christmas tree when he gets back, with Mitch staring intently at the small package as if it held the secret to - or the destruction of - life itself.

"Wow, I didn’t know you’d actually wait," he pauses to check his watch. "Five hours for me, you jag," he says the term with a smile, before walking over to sit right beside his boyfriend to give him a kiss on the cheek. “What do you think it is?”

Mitch doesn’t turn his head, instead mumbling something as his chin rests on his knuckles. “It better be good, for making me wait so long.”

Jerome takes a deep breath. Mitch is more than a little annoyed at him, and his heart is pounding faster and faster as he reaches for the box.

"Alright," he says when he gets the box, holding one of Mitch’s hands to pull him to stand. He’s gesturing for everyone to enter the room now, but he doesn’t think Mitch can stand to wait a little longer for them to enter.

When they’re standing in front of each other, Mitch’s annoyed look morphing into a questioning one, Jerome starts carefully tearing the wrapping, knowing where the pieces of tape are stuck at, pulling it all away to reveal a velvet box. His takes a deep breath and doesn’t look, because he might start crying.

"Mitch," he says first, voice shaky. "We’ve been boyfriends for a long time, and friends even longer before that. We’ve had our ups and downs, the disasters and the celebrations, you were right there beside me for all of them. From ASF to Team Crafted to today, right here, right now, I couldn’t ask for a better partner to have my back - and occasionally my front."

And Jerome starts to kneel and open the box, a large watery smile nearly splitting his face in half when he looks at his partner. “And… I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself if I let you go. So please, Mitchell Donald Ralph Hughes, will you marry me?”

"Oh my god," Mitch starts to sob out, covering his mouth to keep from crying. It’s a few tense minutes when he doesn’t answer, and what comes out of Mitch’s mouth next nearly makes Jerome laugh. "You made me wait hours for this? I’d hit you if I didn’t want to kiss you right now!"

"So is that a yes…?" Jerome asks.

"Heck yes! Yes I will marry you!"


	2. and i'd be so good to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from Marianas Trench and Kate Voegele's "Good To You". Summary: Concealment.

Unlike most romantic comedies or YA novels, falling in love isn’t always the sudden and extravagant gesture, the sudden feeling of butterflies when you make eye contact with someone for the first time.

Sometimes falling in love comes after all that. After deciding that you hate someone, teasing them nearly to the point of bullying, to being tentative and uneasy friends - a random matchup because everyone else already teamed with someone for a Survival Games - to the point where Ty thought ‘huh, this guy isn’t half bad’, falling comes after all of that. Right at the very end.

And it was just about as subtle as a quiet squeak of a mouse in a noisy room, how he looked at Adam in a different light. When he’d laugh out a sound that gave him warm feelings all over, or the sudden warmth he’d feel when Adam touches his hand to get his attention.

With every touch and every word, Ty found himself falling further and faster. In the inside jokes they’d share when they have dishwashing duty, in the odd photos they’d send each other over Skype or snapchat or the like. Even the mere mention of the other’s name could make him blush.

But there were so many things that kept him still, holding back from reveling in Adam’s touch and revealing his feelings for the older man. Adam already got so much shit for coming out as bisexual, it would only intensify if they got together- and what about him? His poor channel wouldn’t stand the backlash.

He already sees the looks everyone else is giving him, inquiring eyes asking if he’ll be making the first move anytime soon. But Ty won’t. Not right now, at least.

He’ll keep quiet, maybe when he’s a year older, or when Adam realises that maybe he’s also having feelings for him and will make the first move. It’s cowardice, he knows that, but there’s too much to risk for something that can still be held back.

When Adam gets his first boyfriend, Ty’s the first to congratulate them on their relationship, even though he’s sure all their friends are looking to see what happens next to him - to them.

He’ll keep his smile small and honest, and he’ll hide behind his cowardice for now. Because… well, he loves Adam, he really does - loving him to the point that he’d let him go even if he was never his. Whatever will make him happy will make Ty happy too. And if it isn’t with him… then that’s okay with him too.

 

 


	3. resembling cutlery on the sofa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from Ed Sheeran's "Sofa". Summary: Timer AU, Ty's alone for Christmas.

It sucks when you don’t have anyone to celebrate Christmas with, Ty learns this in one of the hardest ways.

His roommates have gone home at the start of the break, so he was all alone. His parents were on some sort of cruise, so all he was going home to was an empty house - so he might as well be somewhere where he’s comfortable.

So now he’s here, fiddling with the bracelet that keeps his timer hidden, as he watches some episodes of TV shows he downloaded in his free time. It’s not an altogether rough time, he still feels a little bit of the Christmas spirit because of the tree his roommates put up for him because they knew he wasn’t going home.

Wait.

The mention of his timer made Ty want to look at it again, but what else was it going to say but a large amount of numbers counting down to when he was going to meet ‘the one’? The sheer size of it deterred him from looking at them most of the time, and he really has better things to watch than some numbers counting down to some sort of special destiny set just for him.

(Okay, so maybe he’s been reading too many of the novels Ashley’s reading. What? A guy can’t believe in some sort of cliched fairytale-esque surprise visit from his soulmate?)

A sudden sound from his laptop makes him jump - a message from one of his online, erm, friends. Sky.

 

The message catches Ty off guard. A stranger he met online? Just wanting to come over then? He should be suspcious about it, but all he can feel are butterflies in his stomach. He’s so thankful that no one was in the room then, otherwise they’d have to see his face go beet red.

 

Ty thinks of messaging something else, but his fingers are frozen, barely pressed on the keys. He doesn’t even think of a message, even after Sky signs off. With a sigh, he collapses onto his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut and tries not to think.

That’s how he spends the rest of the hours ‘til before Christmas, watching trashy reality shows on cable, watching clips of old projects or his favourite episodes, feeding his cat, or just lounging around the room. At one point he floods instagram with half-assed selfies until he’s used up all the filters. Just for kicks.

That is, until he hears a knock on the door.

It makes him look up from the pillow his face is pressed onto, puzzled as to who could even think of visiting some lonely 17-year-old on Christmas Eve that only had a cat for company. Couldn’t be any of his dorm mates, they were all on vacations in Europe or Asia or something, and none of his friends were in the general vicinity of the state.

Being the worrier that he is, Ty arms himself with his cat, and hesitantly opens the door.

"Sky," he breathes, brown eyes quickly meeting hazel - and it feels like his world stops in that moment, like something clicked inside him.

"Hi," Sky replies with a warm smile. Ty doesn’t ask why or how, just lets his cat wriggle out of his grip and hug the visitor.

_Eat your heart out, Stephenie Meyer_ , Ty thinks to himself when he squeezes his eyes shut. A few hours after that, when Sky’s settled in for a few days, Ty tugs his sleeve to look at his numbers, and is satisfied to see the once ticking green numbers fade into eight grey zeroes.


	4. where is your heart at?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Where Is Your Heart At?" by Jamie Cullum. Summary: Christmas party, mistletoe.

There are only a few things that Double can’t tolerate. Some of which are slow internet, no internet at all, a slow computer, waking up early, and the toilet seat being cold in the morning.

And lastly, most of the stupid shit Bodil gets up to.

(That’s an entire different list, but for the purposes of being able to say that his ‘I cannot fucking tolerate this shit’ list as short, we’ll just keep that as one item on the list altogether.)

He’s in one of those Christmas parties where people are trying not to get drunk despite the common knowledge that the punch is already spiked with hard liquor and no one really would care - but the police, but who’s counting? - if they did. He’s nursing a bright red cup, face already flushing a little at the amount he drank earlier.

Above all the idle chatter and Christmas music, he can hear the most obnoxious and recognisable laugh above everyone else’s. It might sound romantic to everyone else, but it really just annoys Double in the oddest ways.

It might just be the alcohol talking, but some days, he’s sure Bodil’s out to get him - and not in the creepy, serial killer way. Just in the way where people become the only thing other people think about… it kind of startles him that he wouldn’t actually mind that- wait, what the hell?!

He shakes his head and stands, maybe the lack of outside contact or physical movement’s been getting to him. Hopefully it’s just that.  _Hopefully_.

Unfortunately, it might not just be the aforementioned criteria that’s driven him to losing his mind, because right now he’s standing under a doorway that’s decorated with a sprig of mistletoe with - who else? - but the one guy he doesn’t really want to interact in with the entire party population.

"Hi Bodil," Double greets, the corner of his mouth twisting to a face of a person who doesn’t really want to be in that spot.

Bodil nods. “Double,” he says back. There’s this awkward silence that happens between them, the background music and people talking in the rooms blurring out and getting quieter. “So, um,” the Bulgarian breaks the silence, pointing up at the mistletoe hanging above them. “Don’t we have to do something when two people are under the mistletoe?”

He seems nervous, and Double doesn’t really want to know why because suddenly his heart’s going as if he were on a marathon, palms sweating.

"Yup," he pops the ‘p’, trying to keep his cool exterior in check. "We  _could_  kiss under the mistletoe,” he moves in closer to whisper. “But between you and I, I don’t really want to do this, and no one would actually care if we didn’t, ‘cause everyone here’s busy with their own shit. So we can just pretend this didn’t happen, yeah?”

Bodil seems to deflate at that, and Double honestly has to restrain himself from taking his words back. “Alright.”

They start to walk their separate ways until someone takes them by the shoulders. “Hey! Hang on a bit there, you goons!”

It’s Bashur, and he’s practically manhandling them to the spot where they were earlier. “I didn’t put that mistletoe their for no reason! Kiss or you ain’t leavin’!” he says, crossing his arms before moving back to the couch that was apparently set up in that spot to see people kiss under the mistletoe.

Double lets out an annoyed sound, rolling his eyes before sighing. “Well, we might as well get this over with,” he mutters, never looking at Bodil’s eyes.

He’s never quite noticed how pretty Bodil’s eyes were until now, because the ass always wears those damn sunglasses Sky gave him and never seems to take them off. It’s cliche but it kind of takes his breath away. These are his thoughts in the few seconds before he kisses the taller teen, trying his best not to get up to his tip toes to reach the other’s lips.

It’s a chaste peck on the lips, but it seems good enough for Bashur, who whoops enthusiastically from his seat. “That’s the way to do it!”

"Um, I should go," Double casts his eyes on the ground, starting to mutter to himself about how stupid he is as he walks to the kitchen.

He’s a few steps to the fridge when he hears Bodil calling him. “Double!”

"Yeah?" he shouts over the din.

"You’re a pretty good kisser! I’d walk under the mistletoe with you again any day!" and for some reason, the accent just makes it more endearing to him. But Double doesn’t deem that with a more appropriate response than with his middle finger.


	5. a lot like christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from Michael Bublé's cover of "It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas". Summary: Friendship, Christmas.

Adam thinks that his life probably can’t get any better. He thinks this because there might be a twisted deity up there that’ll take it away if he says it aloud. But, y’know, other than that, he thinks his life is pretty sweet.

He has some amazing friends, a job that he loves doing, supportive fans that he would do mostly anything for, and - damn, he just loves his life in this moment right now, okay?

Beside the fireplace (that, by some miracle, they lit without burning the house down) was where they all sat in a sort of circle, with Jerome to his right and Quentin to his left. He reclined on the cushions of the sofa as everyone started giving away the presents that were once piled up under the tree.

Adam already received most of his, and was content with opening them the time the clock stroke midnight, but everyone had different traditions concerning presents and unwrapping them, so everyone’s just joking and talking whilst they wait for the time they can all open their presents.

It’s nice, really. Most of them had already finished up their videos for the next few weeks, done with the livestreams, and some had gone to other states to visit their girlfriends. It’s a life he didn’t dream of having back then, and now he never wants to let it go. “Man,” he murmurs, as Maddie gasps in delight at what her husband gave her and Tyler punches Mitch for such a bad gag gift. “This is the life.”


	6. in the brink of a hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from Florence + the Machine's "Hurricane Drunk". Summary: Pokemon, Seto's powers going berserk, separation.

**a** : That day was the last straw for Galileo.

His son’s psychic powers had gone berserk again, the third one in the last two weeks and it was truly getting out of hand. This time was the most terrifying for him as well, seeing Seto’s eyes go stark white and hearing not his son’s voice but a legion of others. Even his Espeon, Orion, had joined the frenzy and started attacking bystanders left and right.

Every step to the post office makes his posture a little more hunched, his face looking more aged as he steps into the building. Replied letter clenched in his hand, the man knew he had to do this - even if he had to lose his son for what could be a very long time.

**b** : Naturally, Brice was distraught when he heard the news.

Because despite the troubling and sometimes downright horrifying attacks that his friend suffers, the blonde knows that Seto’s afraid of himself too. The younger boy’s been so scared of losing control, of hurting him again, of dragging his pokemon down with him. Even though this happens, Brice has always been there to hug him and bring him hot chocolate and make him feel better - more human, in Seto’s terms.

"This," he starts to say, as his head tries to contemplate on the words on the paper. "This can’t happen!" His head’s spinning of complicated words and names of places he’s never been, but he knows it all means only one thing: Seto has to leave, and it’s without him. "You can’t expect me to agree to this!" he says, looking at his own father, betrayal loud and clear on his face.

The lieutenant sighs and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Son, there wasn’t anything to agree to. Seto’s leaving tonight, we’re only saying this so that you could say your goodbyes.”

There’s a hint of tears clouding his usually bright blue eyes, and Matthias can only hug his son better.  _Oh Eleanor, if only you were alive today…_

**c** : Lithuiben, Seto’s Budew, is sleeping contentedly in the psychic’s arms as his brown eyes look out the window, watching as the sky turns from a light blue to orange. They flicker from the outside to his only baby pokemon, the only one that’s thus far hasn’t seen the potential and destruction from his powers.

He carefully strokes the pokemon’s bud, gentle enough to warrant purring from the little one, but light enough not to trigger anyone’s allergies. It makes him smile, but it’s not enough to distract him from what’s coming.

The thing is, his father didn’t tell him straight away. The plans were made before even his most powerful berserk yet, and only bothered to tell him a few days after when he came from unconsciousness in a hospital bed, wary and worried eyes telling him everything he needed to know.

"I’m so sorry, buddy," he murmurs, before feeling the car stop and now he’s looking at his mom who’s looking at him with such an apologetic look that it kind of makes him want to leave for a long time. ( _You’re already going to do that, you monster_ , his thoughts remind him.)

With a sigh, he hands over Ben and wakes Orion, exiting the car to enter the port.

**d** : They actually arrived before Seto and his mom did, but Brice was adamant to be given enough - all of it, in other words - time to say goodbye.

He stands when he sees the violet clad boy walk up to them, the first thing he does is hand him a bouquet of pink, blue, violet, and white flowers - flowers that the florist assured him meant the myriad of things he wanted to say. (Words that he wished he could whisper when he’s kissing the younger boy, lovingly and gently.)

"I’m gonna miss you so much," is the only thing he gets to say as his lip quivers, before sobbing and burying his face into the younger boy’s shoulder. He doesn’t know why he’s so affected by this, but he is.

"I-I’ll…" he can barely hear Seto’s small voice. "I’ll miss you too."

They stand there, just feeling and filling each other with their presence, because god knows how long the next time they’ll be able to do this. It’s as if the world slowed down for them, and Brice can’t hear the rest of the world.

**e** : It’s night time, and Seto can’t sleep in the bed that’s so cold and so empty. He wishes he could fill his senses with white again, and drown the entire world out - the only thing he needs right now is his best friend and he can’t even get that.

"Please," he cries quietly, wishing he could bring this whole ship down, because he wishes so badly that he doesn’t exist.

 

 


	7. for the light in my eyes is strange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from Vienna Teng's "Enough To Go By". Summary: soulmates, Jerome is an actor, Mitch is a pianist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'The Forty-First Wink Of Sleep' is a fictional play, and 'subito piano' is a musical term meaning 'suddenly soft'.

On the eve of Christmas, Jerome Aceti made his debut off-Broadway as Martin in The Forty-First Wink of Sleep. As a struggling student actor, this was a big deal for him and most of his peers - the lesser majority being the ones who are jealous and/or want to claim his spot as their own. But never mind that!

Tonight is the night they close up shop for the winter break, and Jerome can’t be more relieved to see his parents waiting for him outside the theater. He’s finally wrapped up in more than just a thin t-shirt and pajama bottoms, and the Christmas spirit’s getting to the actor - more so than the drunken and loud parties he’s attended weeks before this.

_Well, you know what they say_ , he says as he walks up to hug his parents.  _There’s no place like home_.

After a short reunion and catching up and the ol’ one-two with dad, they’re on their way to some fancy restaurant that only his mom can pronounce because his dad is - according to mother - a “sad pile of America” in celebration of his big debut. (It’s all like a weird bizarro dream for him, like he’s bracing himself to wake up in bed, waiting for a callback from the one of the many auditions he had to endure.)

Thanks to some smooth talking from his parents’ part, they snag a good table, near to the kitchens but far enough to be near everything else - especially the sweet sounding melodies coming from the performer on the elevated stage in the centre. Jerome doesn’t really notice it at first, not when he’s taking this all in.

As a struggling student and the only thing keeping him alive is booze, coffee, and oriental take-away, it’s a big step to a classy place with warm tones, orange lights, and formal ambience. He kind of feels small with his thrift store jacket and after-performance clothes, but sometimes you just have to fake it ‘til you make it, y’know?

He orders something with herbs and beef and doesn’t risk a glass of wine, instead opting for some warm tea to let his throat come down from four hours of singing and acting.

Despite how close Jerome is to his parents, there is still the fact that there’s distance and time separating him from the parents he lived with in high school, as they’re now chatting idly about stocks and upcoming events and what’s going on with their businesses and whatnot. “I think I’ll go to the bathroom,” he mutters the weak excuse to leave the table, too full of  _them_  and not enough of  _him_.

It’s a little sad, how they didn’t ask him once about how he’s doing in university or anything. Though, he can’t ask them to change so quickly to support his endeavours.

He’s thankful for the amount of people in the place, actually. There’s a lot seated for a Christmas Eve, and perhaps the rush will let their food arrive later than hoped. This also gives him a good time to do what he likes best, observing people.

Maybe it’s just a theatre thing, but he’s gained the habit of observing people’s quirks and mannerisms. There’s an old man that keeps scrubbing the bottom of his chin as he listens to what could be his wife talk, there’s a child who’s kicking her feet under the table as she tries her best to put the spaghetti in her mouth, there’s a middle-aged man who keeps scratching the top of his right brow as he talks to a younger man clad in business attire.

Eventually he runs out of people on the tables to observe, and he looks over to their table where his mother just left for the washroom or to a waiter or something - maybe to complain on how long their food’s taking. Wouldn’t be the first time, anyway.

His eyes finally land on the pianist on stage, clad in a grey suit with his eyes closed as his fingers dance gracefully over black and white keys and Jerome honestly thinks his breath is taken away. The light from overhead makes him look ethereal, an angel sent from above to play compositions of haunting or soothing notes.

"Wow," the actor says to himself, not trying to get closer or further from the performer, just standing there and feeling the music. He’s almost as still as a statue, save for his head that still cranes to get a better view, from his face to his torso to his legs to the hands still making magic on the instrument.

There’s a blur of black when the pianist lifts his hand into a subito piano, and Jerome’s reminded of a similar tattoo hidden beneath his scarf and etched onto his clavicle. It kind of makes him sad too, that this moment of intimacy that his head thought of is just that - an illusion of romance that might not even be his.

(Every performance leaves Mitch exhausted, whether it be in front of 400-odd people paying to see him, in a 100-seater restaurant where nearly no one stops to hear the music, or just in front of his friend, and this is no exception to that. He breathes deep before opening his eyes back to the real world.)

Jerome returns to his table with a slightly heavy heart, turning his back the moment the pianist’s performance ends to light clapping and silverware on glasses, head turning to look at him curiously.

(There aren’t a lot of people that actually stop to listen in a performance like this, and there was something more to the observant stare the passerby was giving Mitch, but he just can’t seem to place it. Nevertheless, he comes down from the stage and shakes the hand of the next to perform - a nice saxophone player named Quentin who seems to know much more about the place than he does.)

The actor kind of wishes he ordered some wine now, because the encounter’s weighing heavily in his stomach, and his parents silently indulging in their expensive meals isn’t helping him much, if at all. He dares not look up from his plate, though.

Words inked under his skin are starting to throb, as if to remind him of who his heart is supposed to be chained to.  _Mitch Hughes_ , he thinks.  _Where are you?_

(Mitch exits through the back door, a friend’s acquaintance giving him a ride back to his apartment. Before he slips on his gloves, he takes one good hard look at the name imprinted on the inside of his wrist.  _Jerome Aceti_ , he thinks it over in his head, even when the cloth has finally covered the bit of skin.  _Who could you possibly be?_ )


	8. don't run, stop holding your tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from Sara Bareilles' "Brave". Summary: mistletoe, secret relationship.

It happens five times under the day before Christmas. Under. the. goddamn. day.

They all know they’re keeping their relationship under wraps until the time comes that they’re ready for it, but  _damn_ , this is what you get for having such annoyingly persistent friends, right? Said persistence is also the reason how they got together, but Jason doesn’t need to look so smug all day - especially with it being Christmas and all.

But anyway, that’s not the main point here. The main point is that their friends have split up into groups, trying to get them under the mistletoe - located everywhere in the house and in the malls that they frequented - despite the fact that they’ve adamantly told them that they aren’t going to do it, not in public, at least.

Of course, there were protests. Oh, the goddamn protests pretty much didn’t cease. Because of it, Adam was constantly on his phone snapchatting or skyping or messaging Brice, a nerf gun always in reaching distance and Brice locked himself in his room - his main excuse being ‘skyping family members’ and ‘doing some commissions’.

They’ve even stopped joining the guys on their mall trips, they really don’t need a rerun of old ladies hitting them with their purses and calling them ‘inappropriate’ and ‘indecent’, even though the goading teenagers around them coaxed a peck on the cheek out of it. (God bless bonnets. God bless them. Not a photo landed on instagram the following days, through some Christmas miracle.)

Brice looks up from his tablet when he hears the knock on the door, then goes back to concentrating. “Who is it?” he asks as he fleshes out another part of a subscriber he’s drawing.

"It’s Adam!" makes him put down his pen and stretch. The clock read thirty minutes shy of Christmas, and Brice notes how long he’s immersed himself in his work again with a sigh. "You aren’t actually gonna stay up there ‘til midnight, right?" there’s that hint of worry again, and it makes something in Brice clench.

"I’ll be right down," the blonde replies, surveying the room one last time before unlocking his door and greeting him with a large smile and a hug. "Hey," he whispers, giving Adam a chaste kiss on the lips. "Merry Christmas Eve. Ready to face the cavalry?"

The taller man groans into the younger’s neck, unintentionally reverberating throughout his body. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” they separate and Adam has his ‘I’m alright’ smile plastered on. Brice hates that smile.

Boys and girls of various states of tipsiness greet them loudly, especially when they walked under the doorway at the same time - the only doorway in the house that still has its mistletoe intact.

"Hah! You’re under the mistletoe!" Mitch points out gleefully, unashamedly pointing at the pair looking sheepish and looking at everything but each other. "Now you have to kiss!"

It takes a few minutes of goading, and in fact it was already dying out when they finally looked at each other. “Well, fuck it. Merry Christmas, Brice,” Adam says and Brice doesn’t get the chance to reply when he lets out an undignified squeak when Adam pulls him in closer into a kiss better than any he’s ever received in his life.


End file.
